


To Not Remain Damned

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is the only one who has never expected anything of Harry. Harry has more than a little difficulty seeing their relationship as it actually is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Not Remain Damned

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a series of meetings spanning between Harry and Sirius from when Harry is 6 to 17 years old. Please excuse the fact that I can’t even attempt to write like a six year old would think (it’s not 1st person POV, so you’ll all forgive me, right?).

“Almost there, Harry,” Remus reassured every few moments.

Harry clutched his guardian’s hand as the older man led him into yet another hallway. He was quite excited to be out in the world, certainly. Remus didn’t let him go out as often as he’d like, since his guardian didn’t like being around the reporters that seemed to flock about Harry whenever they could. Harry himself didn’t particularly like the way they treated him like a strange potions ingredient, either; he wasn’t something to prodded and stared at as if he was dangerous … or that’s what Remus had said, at least. But for all that he liked being somewhere new and different, they had been walking for a long time. He wished that Remus would carry him, but he’d said Harry was getting too big for that now. Harry had pouted for a long time after that. It was his birthday. It didn’t seem fair that he had to walk around so much on his birthday.

Harry wasn’t sure that he liked being six years old; too small to travel by Floo, but too big to carry as they walked instead. It seemed like a rotten deal to him.

On the other hand, Harry had been deemed old enough now to see where Remus went every time Harry was sent to spend the day at the Longbottoms’ house. Since Harry didn’t like Mrs Longbottom very much – like Neville himself, he thought Neville’s grandmother was really very scary – he was only too happy to go along with Remus to his mystery destination.

“Here it is,” Remus said finally as they reached a door which looked exactly like all the others. Harry looked at it, nonplussed, until Remus reached down and lifted Harry up high enough so that he could see in through the window in the top of the door. In the room, a lone man was lying on a bed, looking somewhere in the direction of the other window across the room on the wall opposite him. That small gap in the wall showed what looked to Harry to be the sky on a perfect day. Since it had been raining outside, Harry decided that the window must be magical. He couldn’t wait until he could do spells like that, like Remus could.

“That’s Sirius Black,” Remus finally admitted when Harry didn’t ask about him. Harry looked once more at the man himself. He didn’t seem to be doing anything very interesting. He was just lying there. Then again, Remus didn’t seem to like a lot of things that Harry thought were great fun, so maybe adults were just excited by different things… weird things, like staring out of windows.

“Who is he?” Harry asked when Remus didn’t continue to explain.

“He’s your godfather. That means that he’s the person your parents chose to look after you if anything bad happened to them and they couldn’t be there for you.”

“How come _you’re_ looking after me now, then?”

Remus sighed. “Sirius can’t be there for you either, that’s why. Something very bad happened to him as well and now he has to stay here.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“It’s ‘ _may_ I talk to him’, Harry,” Remus corrected. “Maybe soon, but not just now. He looks like he might be too tired for company right now. I promise that I’ll bring you back so you can meet him sometime soon.”

* * * * *

‘Sometime soon’ had become two years later by the time Remus had given in to Harry’s wish to meet Sirius Black in person. Harry had spent that time watching the man from afar during their few visits to Saint Mungo’s, while Remus went inside and sat by his godfather’s side, mostly in awkward silence from what Harry could tell. His guardian had eventually confessed that he’d wanted to keep Harry away from his godfather until he was more ‘mature’. He thought it would be better if Harry could actually understand what was wrong with Sirius, he said, so that Harry wouldn’t be offended if Sirius didn’t act as if he wanted Harry there. Harry still wasn’t sure he really grasped it, exactly, but he had been happy enough to pretend when it meant that he could finally meet his godfather.

“Um, hello,” Harry said tentatively. He wanted to go over closer to where Sirius was lying on the bed, but he was unsure of himself. He noted that it seemed as if Sirius still hadn’t moved at all. It was as if the man hadn’t as much as twitched in the years that had passed, from when Harry had first laid eyes on him to his present visit to the little room in which his godfather stayed. Sadly, Harry couldn’t be entirely certain that that wasn’t true.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Remus said quietly in his ear. “He won’t bite. You can go a bit nearer to him if you would like.”

Harry had, from Remus’ description and the fact that Remus always refused to touch the other man, always wondered whether Sirius actually _was_ dangerous in some way. Harry knew enough to comprehend that he was, at least, really not quite right in the head. However, looking at him from close up, Harry realised that the older man didn’t look disturbed at all. He looked very open and peaceful, actually, like the kind of person who might listen to what Harry had to say when he couldn’t tell Remus about it. He didn’t seem like the type who would go about telling anyone his secrets, either… or telling anyone much of anything, at that.

Harry inched closer to the bed, and found that the man’s eyes were suddenly looking at him. They were about the same colour as the chocolate frogs Remus sometimes let Harry eat, when he’d done very well at his schooling or had done something else particularly remarkable, like be civil to the tall, creepy-looking man who visited every month to give Remus his potion. Harry decided that they were very nice looking. They were even somewhat inviting. Harry thought he could definitely come to like looking at them.

He finally stepped close enough to touch the man, though those eyes didn’t follow his movements, focusing instead on something – or perhaps nothing – just past Harry’s shoulder, where the boy had been standing moments before. Harry paid no attention to that. It was hardly Sirius’ fault that he couldn’t act overly polite toward his guests, Harry decided.

Harry laid a hand on his godfather’s arm instead of offering a handshake, because Sirius obviously wouldn’t be able to reciprocate, and Remus had taught Harry that it was rude not to offer your hand when you were meeting someone new. As he looked down at the complete stranger that was his godfather, and had been his father’s best friend, Harry remarked that he felt as if he’d actually met Sirius a long time ago. It was as if he’d known his godfather for as long as he’d been alive, when he actually still didn’t really know him at all. He hoped to remedy that soon enough, though.

His voice was soft and probably a bit more formal than he would have liked when Harry eventually murmured, with his eyes averted shyly, “Hello, Sirius. I’m Harry, your godson. It’s very nice to meet you.”

* * * * *

Harry smiled softly as he laid eyes on his godfather. It had been far too long since he had last seen him, and he missed the comfort of sitting quietly under the regard of those warm brown eyes, or of spending hours telling Sirius about what was happening out in the world.

“Hello, Sirius,” he greeted. Sirius’ eyes did not shift even slightly from their focus on what appeared to Harry to be an entirely unremarkable piece of white wall. He was, however, certain that his godfather had heard him nonetheless. Harry really didn’t expect nor need anything more from his godfather, anyway. There was no one else in the world who could just look at him and affect him quite the same way.

“Remus said to say hello, and that he’s sorry he couldn’t come as well. He’s got a meeting with Dumbledore. Something to do with preparing for the new school year, I think. He’s teaching at Hogwarts now, you know, since Professor Quirrell died at the end of the year. Personally, I think Remus will be a much better teacher,” Harry mused. “He’ll be far more fit to teach, and there’s that small added bonus of his not having Voldemort’s nasty-looking face in the back of his head.”

Sirius eyes almost seemed to flicker at the mention of the name ‘Voldemort’. Harry, however, dismissed this as a trick of the light. He knew well enough that he often saw what he wanted to see where Sirius was concerned. He’d once thought he’d seen Sirius’ mouth form a word, but Remus had quickly set him straight. Sirius wasn’t well enough to do that, he’d said. If Harry had anything to say about it, Sirius would definitely be healthy enough one day to do that and much more.

Harry continued genially, “The Headmaster warned Snape that there’d be trouble if Remus’ status as a werewolf got out, apparently, because, on top of him probably having to resign, his guardianship of me would be taken away if the Ministry found out. Remus told me that Snape was fuming over that, and that you might enjoy knowing that, since you didn’t get along with him. I don’t like him, either. He’s a greasy git, even if he didn’t turn out to be the one who was helping Voldemort get the stone. Even knowing that, I still wouldn’t be too surprised to find out that Snape was on Voldemort’s side. He’s just the type, after all.

“You know, so much has happened since I came to see you before school last year,” Harry considered quietly. “It feels like longer than a year. Neville got a toad, which he keeps losing, and he actually got into Gryffindor with me, which was a shock to all of us, and I met Ron and Hermione, my best friends, and we battled a troll, and I made the Quidditch team as Seeker – youngest in a century – and…”

Harry trailed off. He sighed and reached out to take Sirius’ hand in his. He still received no response from the man, but that small contact seemed comfort enough for the troubled twelve year old boy.

“I sent so many letters to you during school explaining all that. You wouldn’t believe… but I don’t think you got all of them, if any. Eventually I got a letter saying that I should just stop sending them, because it would take the Healers too long to read them to you and they didn’t think that you would listen anyway. I wouldn’t blame you. Of course you wouldn’t listen to a letter being read to you by some Healer who probably doesn’t even know your name. How impersonal is that?

“I wish Professor Dumbledore would give me special leave from school every so often so I could come and see you myself. He says that other students don’t get to go see their parents during school, so it wouldn’t be fair if I could see you. But how else am I expected to get news to you? I sometimes wish that the wizarding world had something like those Muggle telephone things that Remus taught me about. Then I could talk to you directly. Even if I couldn’t see you, I’d still know that you were hearing my stories, at least, because I know that you’d listen if it was my voice talking to you.”

Harry dropped Sirius’ hand so that he could reach up and turn his godfather’s face towards him. The expression was blank, as usual, but those brown eyes did look directly into his own green ones, which was indication enough for Harry that Sirius knew what was happening in the world outside what little was left of his mind.

“I do like seeing you. So does Remus, even if he doesn’t come very often. It’s painful for him, you know? He doesn’t see the progress you’re making like I do. He only sees you as his broken friend. I see how you know things, though. You could never recognise me when I first started visiting, but you seem to know that I’m here now. I know you can understand me. I wish Remus understood. It’s not like he’s making it any easier on us, as it is.”

He paused for a moment, and then whispered, “I know I always tell you this, but I love your eyes. I wish that you could look at me more often.”

* * * * *

Harry arrived at Sirius’ room to find him missing. For a moment he simply stood there looking at the bed that his godfather usually occupied, wondering if he should be panicking. The man never left his room, after all. The Healers said that he ‘lacked the motivation’. Harry didn’t understand how anyone, even someone whose mind was damaged as badly as Sirius’, could not want to see something outside the same white-washed room day in and out, but that was the way it had always been.

One of the assistant Healers eventually saw him standing around looking lost and recognised him.

“Who’re you looking for, Mr Potter? I’m sure I can help you out if you need me to,” the Healer offered in an almost overenthusiastic manner. Harry barely refrained from groaning in annoyance. The last thing he needed was to have people recognising him here and reporting his presence to the _Prophet_. If they knew he spent a lot of time here, he’d never get a moment alone with Sirius, he was sure. He didn’t see what was so great about him that they had to plague his every step whenever he emerged from the little house he and Remus shared.

“A man named Sirius Black,” Harry replied in spite of his wish that the young man would just disappear and leave him alone. Now that he’d been recognised, he might as well get the Healer to help him out. “He’s a patient in this ward.”

“Oh, I know him. He’s one of the long-termers. Lost cause, apparently.”

Harry clenched his fists and tried very hard to ignore the words incessantly sprouting from the chattering wizard as he was led back down the hall to the common area of Sirius’ ward.

Harry wondered to himself if the young man would have even bothered to lead him that far, let alone follow him to where his godfather was standing in the corner across the room, if he wasn’t the famous Harry Potter. Probably not. Even if he had taken any notice of Harry whatsoever, he would have been unlikely to put himself out for some unimportant stranger. Most people didn’t seem to be charitable that way, though Harry often wished that he hadn’t seen enough of the wizarding world to know that.

“Well, hello there, Sirius,” Harry accosted his godfather as he reached his side, pointedly turning away from the Healer who hovered around behind them. His meetings with Sirius were supposed to be private; just between the two of them. That was the whole point. He didn’t need some member of the Boy Who Lived fan club lurking about disrupting them. He got enough of that at Hogwarts, for Merlin’s sake.

“Did you finally decide that you were up to a walk?”

“Oh, he’s been wandering around a bit recently,” the young Healer piped up.

“Really?” Harry asked, blinking in shock. With that one sentence, the Healer suddenly seemed a lot less annoying and a lot more helpful. “That’s a good sign, right?” he interrogated the man eagerly. “It means that he might be getting better. Doesn’t it?”

The young man just shrugged, which disappointed Harry greatly.

“It’s a good sign that fourteen years of the same room would drive even a mental bloke insane,” he replied flippantly, then seemed to almost turn scarlet under Harry’s answering glare. When Harry took Sirius by the arm and led him away, nattering away to his uncomprehending godfather, the Healer seemed to, at long last, take the hint and return to his actual responsibilities.

“He said you were a hopeless case,” Harry relayed to Sirius once the man was out of earshot. He carefully guided the older man back to his room, which was a much more comfortable and familiar environment for Harry and probably for Sirius as well, after all the time they’d both spent in it. “You wouldn’t be suddenly getting up out of your bed if you were hopeless, though, would you?

“I think there’s definitely a chance that you’re improving. So I might just have to visit a bit more often. How about that? Would you like having me around a bit more? If there’s a chance that you’re getting better, I bet it would help to have a friendly face around to give you a bit of encouragement. It doesn’t sound like some of your Healers are particular good for you that way.”

* * * * *

Harry was with Sirius for the third time that week. Since Lord Voldemort had returned a few months beforehand, in October of his sixth year, Harry had become worried that it wouldn’t be long before Dumbledore would need him, and he would no longer have opportunity to see his godfather during his holiday breaks. He hadn’t realised quite how right he had been until he’d been called to the Headmaster’s office one night to talk about several mysterious objects called Horcruxes. Although Harry still wasn’t really sure what exactly those were, Dumbledore had made it clear enough that they were what had saved Voldemort from true death when Harry had deflected his killing curse back onto him. They were also what would allow Voldemort to continue staying alive unless they were destroyed.

It had seemed quite obvious from the way Dumbledore was speaking of the situation that Harry would have to have a hand in destroying the things, though Harry hoped Dumbledore planned to explain the situation more fully before then. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he was the only one who could, or because Dumbledore thought it would help prepare him for coming up against Voldemort once more. Though it seemed to Harry as if he’d been training for that moment all his life, he supposed it couldn’t hurt to be as prepared as possible. He didn’t want to be caught unawares, after all; it would likely mean his death, where Voldemort was concerned.

Unfortunately, one of the problems among the many was that he wasn’t going to have enough time to visit Sirius until the war was over, one way or the other. It could be months, even years, until he could contact his godfather again after this short holiday break was over. It was becoming difficult enough to see Sirius already.

Harry had been staying with the Weasleys for the Christmas break, because Remus had been required to stay at Hogwarts for the duration. Ron was currently covering for his disappearance so that he could go to Saint Mungo’s without Ron’s mother finding out. When Dumbledore had claimed that it wasn’t safe for Harry to roam around now that Voldemort was back, Mrs Weasley had taken that to mean that he shouldn’t set foot outside the house, not even to play Quidditch in the field near the Burrow with the other Weasley teenagers. He imagined that she would howl at him until her face went blue if she found out he was miles away from the house in a public place, and by himself on top of all that.

He didn’t care. He was nearly of age, and thus was more than old enough to take care of himself, especially in a crowded place like Saint Mungo’s. It was probably ten times safer there than the Burrow, and who among Voldemort’s supporters would really be looking for him there, anyway?

He wouldn’t let other people’s restrictions cut short what little time he had left with Sirius.

Harry did, however, decide that he’d better finish up his present visit. Mrs Weasley would notice if he was gone much longer, and Ron was already upset with him for, as he had put it, “Repeatedly using me so that you can sneak off and put yourself in mortal danger.” While that wasn’t going to stop Harry from sneaking out to see his godfather, it made it foolish to stay longer than he had to.

That day was one of the few those days that Sirius wasn’t out and about, which made it more difficult to touch him, because there was no pretence of guiding him back to his room or anything similar available for Harry’s exploitation. It bothered Harry a little that he felt so much like touching his godfather. It was strange, certainly. However, he told himself that it was normal. It was just little touches to comfort both of them, and after all, why shouldn’t he touch his godfather? He and Sirius would probably have touched all the time if not for Voldemort stealing their life together all those years ago. It had been entirely unfair for that madman to torture his godfather into a quiet sort of madness for information which he didn’t even have, then only days later just be handed that same information without any struggle by a pitiful little rat as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was wholly unfair that Harry couldn’t even hug his godfather goodbye because of those events, and that the same events had left his godfather as one of the few remaining remembrances of his parents’ lives.

Who would know, anyway? Harry looked out the door and saw that no one was lurking in the hallway. No one prowled this section of Saint Mungo’s very often, as it was filled with those the Healers called ‘hopeless cases’, like Sirius. They didn’t think that Sirius and his kind required frequent check-ups, because what was really going to happen to them between one day and the next?

Well, what did they know about it? They just couldn’t be bothered putting in the effort it would require to help them. No one was interested enough in Sirius to attempt to rehabilitate him… apart from, of course, Harry himself.

Well, why not, then? Why shouldn’t he take advantage of their carelessness and disregard? He was more than entitled to touch his own godfather, and Sirius could probably do well to experience some touching of a more personal and caring nature than any in which the Healers were well practised.

Harry lay down alongside Sirius so that he could insinuate one arm underneath his godfather and pull the man into as tight an embrace as was possible in their positions. It was almost unbelievably pleasing to be so close to another human being without any repercussions, and the fact that it was his godfather seemed for a moment like mere icing on the cake. Though Sirius didn’t hug him back, Harry still felt as if the other man was somehow holding him, making Harry feel just that little bit warmer, more loved. It seemed lately that Remus was incapable of providing Harry with any source of a similar feeling. Whether that was a question of “couldn’t” or “wouldn’t” seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, though if he really scrutinised the situation, Harry wondered whether he would still feel quite as betrayed as he did at that moment, knowing that he felt more welcome with his catatonic godfather than he did with his own guardian.

“What are you doing?”

The loud outburst, Harry saw when he sprung from Sirius’ bed, came from one of the Healers on duty in the wing. Sirius, not surprisingly, didn’t respond in the slightest to the interruption. Harry projected a thought of goodbye back at his godfather, wishing the other man could hear such a thing. He fled Saint Mungo’s as quickly as he could manage, with the Healer yelling indignantly after him.

* * * * *

The next day, Harry stormed into Sirius’ room, fuming. He took one look at Sirius, who didn’t look back, and began the pacing the room.

“One of the Healers rang the Weasleys about what happened yesterday, and they told Remus. He was so angry with me. What a hypocrite! As if he has the right to tell me who I can spend time with! He said I was too attached to you, that I should really just let you go. He said that I was in love with the idea of you, and that I couldn’t see past it to the broken shell that you are.

“But you aren’t a broken shell, and I would love you for you, not just the idea of you, even if you _were_ damaged beyond repair. Sirius Black, the man my parents knew, is still inside you. Anyway, you’re getting better. You have to be. You’re going to be that man again soon, and then Remus will be so embarrassed that he said anything like that. I hope you never forgive him for it, either.”

Harry pretty much collapsed into the chair that was placed beside Sirius’ bed for visitors to use. These days, he was probably the only person who ever utilised it. Remus hadn’t done so for years, as far as Harry knew. Angry tears streamed down his face, and as much as he hated for Sirius to see him that way, he couldn’t seem to stop the flow of salty moisture.

“Remus told me he loved me,” Harry whispered. “And not just loved me like a guardian. He says he’s fallen in love with me, and that’s why he won’t touch me anymore. It’s not appropriate, apparently. I’m not of age, and he’s my guardian, and he’s a werewolf. I don’t understand him at all anymore. He likes me, so he has to completely forget I exist? It doesn’t make any sense. I hate it. I wish I could hate him as well. I sometimes wish I’d grown up with someone else.”

Harry was silent for a long time. Eventually, he whispered, “I wish I was a Muggle, and that nothing strange had ever happened to me. When this is over, I’m going to find a way to disappear, I think. I’ve put up with the newspapers and magazines, and with other people’s expectations of me, for my whole life. That’s more than long enough, isn’t it? Am I not eventually entitled to a life like everyone else’s?

“Why can’t anything ever be normal for me, Sirius? You’re the closest thing I have to family right now, and you can’t even give me the advice I need. I can’t even see you whenever I want anymore, for Merlin’s sake, because the Healers, the Weasleys, Remus and Dumbledore are all watching me more closely than I can stand right now. It’s only because I snuck in that I’m not being dragged out the door by one or even all of them at this very moment.”

Harry looked up at Sirius, whose eyes were, for once, actually on him. If he lied powerfully enough to himself, he was sure he could make himself think that Sirius really saw him, really understood what he was saying. That Sirius really understood what Harry was feeling, what the tears on his face signified.

Harry, on impulse, reached over and placed a kiss on Sirius’ cheek. Sirius’ eyes were still on him, but Harry wasn’t sure whether that was because he was still in that same line of sight, or whether they had actually followed him. He reached down again and kissed Sirius again, this time a quick peck on the lips. They were slack under his, but that was all right. Harry could still taste Sirius and feel the warmth of his lips.

It was enough. It had to be.

Harry pulled away and backed off. “No one ever claimed that life was fair, but I wish for both our sakes that it was, because then you’d be okay, and my parents would be alive, and I’d just be normal.”

He sighed. It wouldn’t do to dwell on what he knew was impossible, or to draw Sirius’ attention to the same, if the man was even able to understand what he was saying. Instead, he merely said, “Have a happy Christmas, Sirius.”

“James?” Sirius replied in a croak.

Harry stumbled backwards in shock. He’d never heard Sirius speak, and was fairly certain that this was the first time it had happened. None of the Healers had ever mentioned it to him or Remus, at least, and Harry thought that might be considered pretty newsworthy in this group of patients.

For a long while he didn’t say anything, and Sirius looked like he was in his own world once more, if he had ever left it.

“No,” Harry said finally in a wavering voice, though he knew it didn’t matter, as his godfather wasn’t listening to him anyway, “it’s Harry. I’m _Harry_.”

* * * * *

Harry curled up at the end of Sirius’ bed, completely uncaring now of whether he’d be caught by any passers-by. He needed the comfort that this sort of contact with his godfather gave him, the man’s eyes on him to top it off. Harry watched Sirius’ face for any sign of understanding as his godfather seemed to watch Harry in turn. Sirius had spoken to him the last time had come, and so much had happened since then. Everything had changed for the worse. Surely at least one thing in Harry’s life had to be improving. Surely Sirius was regaining his intellectual capacity, as Harry had so been hoping for, to at least partially make up for Harry’s otherwise dispirited reality.

“I don’t think I can keep this up,” Harry mumbled to Sirius after a long while.

Sirius lay there looking at him as if Harry hadn’t made so much as a noise.

“I’ve never felt alone before, when I’m here with you. But now it seems as if the world out there is so overwhelming that it’s spilling over to my time here with you.

“Dumbledore’s dead. I bet that that would shock you, if anything would. I always kind of expected him to be there. I can’t imagine facing Voldemort, knowing that there’s no way that Dumbledore can sweep in and save me. I think everyone at Hogwarts thought that the Headmaster was eternal – that he’d always be there. He seemed more solid than Hogwarts itself, sometimes. You probably thought the same thing when you were a student.

Harry snorted out a depreciating laugh. “Oh, and guess who killed him? Snape. I reckon that wouldn’t shock you quite as much. Remus tells me stories about how you acted toward Snape. I even saw a memory of it in his Penseive once. I shouldn’t have looked, and I actually felt sorry for him afterwards. I was sorry that I looked at that, and that you and my Dad would do that. Now I’m just glad. I even wish that you’d done worse, while you still could.

“I tried to throw the Cruciatus at him, more than once. I would have thrown that curse of his, _Sectumsempra_ , at him and watched him bleed to death and _liked_ it. I told Remus that yesterday. He told me I should talk about what happened, and I did. I told him all of it. The prophecy that Dumbledore told me about before we went off to find that Horcrux, the Horcruxes themselves, the confrontation between Snape and I, the way I wanted Snape to _hurt_. I think Remus is frightened of me now, or maybe he even hates me. He certainly doesn’t look at me quite the same. I’m not surprised. I think I would be frightened of me, too.”

Harry snuck up the bed so that he could take Sirius’ hand and press it flat against his cheek. It was comforting, even if the hand was cold despite the warm summer weather, and even if Sirius himself hadn’t been responsible for the contact, as Harry would have liked.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Harry admitted. “I can’t kill Voldemort by myself. I’ve never done anything that important completely on my own, and I’m not as strong as he is, and I’m not even fully trained yet. He’ll point his wand and hit me with the Killing Curse, and it’ll be over in two seconds flat. That scares me so much. Years of preparing for this, of having expectations thrust upon me by other people, and it could all end just like that. I didn’t mention _that_ to Remus. There are things I don’t want him or my friends to know, and that’s definitely one of them. They’re depending on me. What will they think of me when I’m beaten without Voldemort even having to bother making an effort of it?

“No, you’re the only one who I can say these things to. You won’t judge me. You’re the only one who won’t. You’re the only one who doesn’t want something from me.”

Harry might have said more, but Sirius’ eyes flickered for a second, and once more he enquired, “James?”

Harry let out a sad little laugh. “No. No, Sirius. Harry, not James. I’m _Harry_.”

Sirius showed no sign of comprehending this. Harry rolled over so that he was still on Sirius’ bed, but was facing away from the man. In that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Sirius and know that all the other man saw in him, in those rare moments that he saw anything at all, was his father.

* * * * *

“I don’t think Remus wants me to live with him anymore.”

Harry wasn’t sure why he even bothered to tell Sirius his problems any longer, since Sirius himself was probably the biggest predicament of all in Harry’s life right at that moment. He had, at one stage, been Harry’s safe haven, his confidante, the man with whom he could talk about all things related to Remus and Hogwarts and any of the other madcap things that happened in his life. Now, though, Harry felt most out of control when he stood in that room and saw those brown eyes staring, most of the time not even at him. He still, however, refused to take Remus’ advice and stop coming. He was no longer sure that his visits were a good idea, but it seemed impossible for him to decide to not to even try anymore.

“He said that he stills loves me no matter what, as my guardian and as… well, you know. But he said that it was painful for him to watch me ‘just surviving’ like I apparently am now. He thinks I have no life outside you. He also said that if I was still planning on continuing my visits with you, he didn’t want to have anything to do with it. It sounded like he meant that he didn’t want to have anything to do with _me_.

“He’s also been going on about how worried he is about finding a new brewer for the Wolfsbane potion. He keeps talking about how it’s not safe for me to be around him until he can find a potions master that he can trust to make the potion correctly.

“He’s always agonising over the idea that Snape will spread the word that he’s a werewolf now that he’s given up the façade of being loyal to the Order. I’d have to move out anyway, then, he says. But Snape hasn’t said a word about it, funnily enough. The dirty git will kill the man who trusted him despite everything he’s done, but he won’t break his word about the secret of a man he hates? Merlin, I hate thinking about how twisted that man is. I seriously can’t fathom his craziness, even though I seem to be rivalling it with my own.”

Harry smiled humourlessly, watching as Sirius’ mouth fell open a little and a pool of drool which must have been accumulating in his mouth began to drip out onto his pillow. Harry reached out and adjusting him a little to solve the problem. It was amusing, in a very dry and inappropriate way, that he was defying his guardian to spend time with a man who couldn’t even do so much as prevent himself from drooling all over everything.

As soon as that treacherous thought occurred, Harry banished it from his mind. Sirius couldn’t help it, and it was terrible to consider abandoning his godfather just because his recovery wasn’t progressing as quickly as Harry would like. These things took time.

“I’m beginning to think that he’s right about me coming here all the time, though,” Harry admitted weakly. “I don’t even care about stopping Voldemort anymore half as much as I care about being here for you every day. It’s not normal, but it feels necessary, because I don’t believe you’re ever going to get better without my help. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? It’s stupid to think that any part of the world revolves around me like that. Sometimes, though, I think about everything that’s happening to me and I wonder whether maybe _everything_ might depend entirely on me, even though I know that’s stupid. Perhaps I should book into a room of my own here. I’d fit in well enough, probably, and it’s not as if I don’t already spend half my life here as it is.”

He imagined that Sirius shot him a reproachful look, though he knew very well that the other man had done no such thing.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to sound spiteful. You aren’t a burden on me. It’s my choice to be here. Even though I _should_ probably want to be somewhere else living a different life, I really only want to be right here. I love you.”

Harry sighed and reached out to stoke the back of his hand down Sirius’ cheek.

“Anyway, I’m of age, so Remus is well within his rights to decide he’s had enough of me and put me out on my backside, if he wants. I’m old enough to move out and take you with me, as well, if I wanted. It’s strange. I have another year of school to go, and yet when I think about moving in somewhere with you right now, it doesn’t seem to matter that I’d be missing that. How would I support us? I can’t live on the money that my parents left me for the rest of my life. It’s crazy, but what else will I do? How will I live with myself if –”

Harry was interrupted by Sirius’ hand shooting up and clenching around the wrist of the hand that was presently tracing Sirius’ jaw line. Harry didn’t breathe for a long moment.

“James?” Sirius asked.

Harry found that no words would leave his mouth. His chest felt tight, and his throat swollen, as if he was going to cry, but Harry somehow knew that he was beyond tears. He felt almost numb as he bit his lip and walked swiftly out the room, refusing to pause and look back at Sirius for fear that those eyes would be following him.

It was terrible of him to abandon Sirius every time he spoke, of course, and it probably wasn’t sending his godfather positive messages about talking – he probably required reinforcement to get better, and Harry hated to think he couldn’t give Sirius that.

On the other hand, for all that Harry wanted Sirius to get better, he didn’t think he could handle it right then if it happened because of his father – because of ‘James’ – and not because of _him_.

* * * * *

Harry knew that he was well and truly out of his tree when he ran from the school on foot one day and Apparated to Saint Mungo’s once he’d left the protective wards around the grounds. He didn’t tell a soul that he was going for fear that they’d stop him from seeing Sirius. They would probably think that he’d been kidnapped, or had fallen down the stairs in some secret Hogwarts corridor to his death, or something.

Then again, it was probable that no one of great importance would notice that he was gone, anyway. Not only were Ron and Hermione barely speaking to him these days, but the school seemed to be completely falling apart ever since Dumbledore had died. Harry was surprised that it was still operating at all under McGonagall’s command in such a time of crisis. He had half expected that it would close. As it was, the student numbers were down, they were missing several staff members – Snape, of course, notably among them – and McGonagall, as the new Headmistress, seemed completely bogged down with a mixture of Ministry visits and parental complaints. She had little time to worry about the little things, such as temporarily missing individuals. She certainly didn’t have that seeming omnipotence that Dumbledore had always displayed to let her know immediately once he was gone.

Harry doubted that he could have made it out of the school, Apparated, and spent half an hour drifting aimlessly around Saint Mungo’s waiting for visiting hour to start without Dumbledore sending someone to retrieve him long before he’d ever made it to Sirius’ room. He hadn’t exactly been very secretive about his escape, either. He had taken off directly after Quidditch practice, flinging his broom into the broom shed and running off without a word to Ron and the others. He wasn’t even sure why he was still playing Quidditch. Compared with the war with Voldemort – and with his visits with Sirius – it seemed so juvenile and pointless, but Harry supposed he was trying to act as normal as possible when he could manage it.

But, normal or not, he just couldn’t stand being there, and being without Sirius’ comforting influence, another day longer.

He’d been looking up glamour charms for his N.E.W.T. Charms class and had come across one that allowed a wizard to project the picture of how a room should look into a window as a glamour, so that anyone who might look in from outside couldn’t tell what was actually going on inside. For a week after that, all he could think about was how he could use it on the little window in Sirius’ door so that he could finally receive his godfather’s touch without interference. The Healers, if they chose to visit, would look in and see Sirius lying there, like he almost always was when he remained inside the room. That was how it should be. That was all he wanted; to know that his godfather loved him enough to allow his touch unconditionally. No one else in Harry’s life loved him that way, that much was clear.

Finally, he couldn’t take thinking about it anymore, so there he was standing outside Sirius’ door, putting the spell in place. He was surprised that no security of any kind swept down upon him for using magic in one of the resident’s rooms. He assumed they must only take such measures where the magic being used was of a harmful nature; he supposed that otherwise any security measures might interfere with the Healers casting their spells on patients. Or maybe the security just wasn’t as efficient as Harry had expected. Even so, there was still a possibility that he was being monitored magically while within the building, and that someone might still come to investigate his spell use. He might not have long to spend with his godfather. He’d have to make the most of it.

He closed the door behind him as he stepped into Sirius’ room. It would appear to anyone else that Sirius did not know he was there, but Harry couldn’t bear to think so right at that moment.

“Hello, Sirius,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve been here. I’ve been at school, and Remus has been breathing down my neck. I might not still be living with him, but I have to see him all the time at Hogwarts, so I think sometimes he forgets that he even asked me to leave.”

Harry walked over to the bed and threw himself down beside Sirius, enveloping him in a hug. Again he wasn’t hugged back, but he didn’t mind. He knew that Sirius would be hugging him if he could, and that was enough for now. Similarly, Sirius didn’t respond when Harry kissed him. For the first time, Harry touched their lips together for more than a second or two. His partner could have been sleeping and Harry might have gotten more response, but it was still nice. It was nice to know that he could do this and Sirius wouldn’t push him for more, or want to brag about it to his friends, or want to ‘thank’ him for his efforts in ridding the world of Voldemort for that fifteen years he was gone and perhaps encourage him to try that little bit harder now to accomplish a more permanent repeat performance.

He was sure that no seventeen year old boy should have to be thinking like that. There were times when Harry wished he was numbered among the many who thought that any sexual contact was good enough, and had nothing much more than that in their lives to worry themselves over. That would be a kind of heaven after all that he had experienced lately. He was so envious of those normal people sometimes that it hurt. He wanted to scream until his throat was too sore to speak.

What did he expect, though? He was well aware that he was borderline depressed (he refused to believe he’d strayed properly over that line though), and he had next to no self-esteem anymore. If not for Sirius, Harry wondered if he might be suicidal. It was a scary thought, but it served to make him intensify his efforts in kissing his godfather. If this man was all that was holding him together, and Harry was Sirius’ only hope of becoming whole again, then how could it be wrong to help himself and Sirius both by initiating contact of a slightly more intimate nature with him?

When he shifted on top of Sirius, he felt a slight hardness against his thigh. He rolled completely off the bed in surprise, landing on the hard ground with an audible thump. When he got back up onto his knees and looked, he saw the covers were slightly tented over Sirius’ groin. Harry felt as if he was watching someone else pull those covers back and pull the sleeping robe up eagerly to reveal a semi-hard penis. Surely Harry wouldn’t have done that to Sirius if he had been in control of his body at that moment. Surely it wasn’t him who was running his hand reverently over the skin and hair just above the jutting hardness, watching as Sirius’ erection responded to the contact.

But then, it was wonderful to see. It was evidence that Sirius had truly reacted to something Harry had done. He wasn’t completely beyond reaching, even if it was only on a primitive and perhaps subconscious level. Harry could barely believe it as his hand moved a little lower to touch the erection, which rose slowly towards Sirius’ stomach as he stroked it. Harry leaned his head on the bedside as he continued his ministrations, his eyes still glued to the sight of it. When Sirius came in his hand, the room was utterly silent. Harry wasn’t sure whether he had hoped for more or not. As he stood up, he noted, still as if from a great distance away, that there was a wet patch on the covers where salty tears had seeped out of his eyes. He had thought himself incapable of crying any more, as if the tears had dried up permanently. It was a surprise – and an unpleasant reminder of his weakness – to see where that pool of tears had darkened the sheets.

He averted his eyes from that spot, and from Sirius’ supine body, to find himself staring at the streak of semen that coated his fingertips. He brought his hand to his mouth and cleaned it with his tongue.

In that moment, Harry found that he might just detest himself. He hated that he had taken advantage of Sirius, for that was what had happened. Sirius had had no choice in the matter. Merlin, Harry had practically raped him. Fresh tears fell.

“I love you, Sirius,” Harry said, as if that made it any better.

“James?”

Harry keened miserably at that word. If he never heard his father’s name again, it would be too soon. He knew he shouldn’t think that about his own father, but he couldn’t really help it. He reminded himself that it was his fault his life was fucked up, not James Potter’s and not Sirius Black’s, either. Sirius was, in fact, Harry finally noticed, looking at him as if he expected an answer.

“Yes,” Harry responded tiredly. “James. That’s right, Sirius. I’ll be whoever you need me to be.”

He then turned around and walked out of the room for what seemed like the thousandth time since that strange little series of encounters had first begun, unsure if he could ever bring himself to come back.

* * * * *

It would be the last time, Harry promised himself. He would not bother Sirius again. He had finally been able to admit to himself that he was doing Sirius more harm than good by being around. He was hardly a positive influence anymore, after all; he was no longer sure which of them had greater mental problems. He did, however, feel that he needed to say goodbye to him. His godfather deserved that much.

It would be the last time, without a doubt. He would not let himself hurt someone he cared for so much anymore.

“Hi,” he greeted Sirius, who was standing in the common area of his ward, surrounded by people but not seeming to realise it. As usual, Sirius did not turn to look at him. Harry bit his lip in shame. How could he have thrown himself so shamelessly at someone who couldn’t even make a decision to look in a particular direction, let alone decide to consent to sex? Gods, he’d gone mad, hadn’t he?

“I’ve done a lot of thinking in the lead up to facing off with Voldemort. That’ll be soon, and I might not live – probably won’t, in fact, and I think I’ve finally made my peace with that fact – so I wanted to say goodbye just in case. But I won’t be back even if I win… if I live. I don’t to hurt you anymore, Sirius. Even if my presence brings you back to the real world a little, I can’t seem to act normally around you. It’s not fair to you for me to keep hanging around. I know you wouldn’t have wanted… _that_ , if you were yourself. So, yeah, my illusions that you’ll get better are pretty much shattered, because you’re obviously not better yet after coming on two whole decades, are you? And I’m not sure how much longer I can be around you without permanently damaging one or both of us, if I haven’t already. I certainly feel like I’m already damaged.”

Harry abruptly began laughing wildly, and he wasn’t entirely sure of the reason behind his reaction. Maybe it was because he had to either laugh or cry, and it all suddenly seemed so painfully hilarious to him.

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done. You wouldn’t believe what a terrible person I’ve been. I couldn’t handle the fact that Remus suddenly wanted something from me, you know? All my life everyone wanted the great Harry Potter and didn’t give a stuff about me, except for Remus. Then Remus told me that he was in love with me, so he didn’t want to touch me too much – because, you know, it would be too much of a temptation, or whatever – and it felt like he was telling me that he wouldn’t let me close to him unless I had sex with him.

“That’s stupid, I know. Remus isn’t like that. If I had just asked him… It wouldn’t have been that bad, anyway. He’s the only person who actually loves me, and I love him as well, as mad as I’ve been at him lately. I know that he was right, now. I’ve been killing myself by pushing everyone else away to come here and pretend that this is something real. I feel like part of me is already dead. It seems like it’s all ruined.

“Merlin, I hate myself.”

“James?”

Harry didn’t cry this time. He pulled himself together and went to say something – he wasn’t sure precisely what, but something – when a voice behind him cut in.

“No, he’s Harry,” Remus said softly. “He’s Harry, and he’s your godson, and he’s very confused because his current guardian didn’t do half as good a job as you would have, had you had the chance, because his guardian is afraid of what he feels for him, and so he’s been a selfish arse.”

“Remus…” Harry whispered.

“Oh, Harry. Merlin, what am I going to do with you? I followed you out of the school, and when you Apparated, I couldn’t think where else you might have gone. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m so not all right, Remus. I’m all so very _wrong_ right now. I can’t even...”

Remus fairly well tackled Harry into a big bear hug, and it was much better than embracing Sirius, because it seemed obvious to every inch of his body that Remus actually wanted him there, and that was amazing in comparison. It also made him feel ashamed that he’d done something so devoid of emotion with Sirius. It was perhaps a good thing that Sirius would have only been half aware, if that, of Harry’s actions. Harry didn’t like to think that his godfather was trapped somewhere in that mind, fully aware of what Harry had done and hating him for it.

“I don’t want to ever hear you say that you hate yourself again,” Remus growled in a very choked, emotional way. “You’re the most amazing person I know, to have pulled through everything that’s been thrust upon you and not already be well and truly committed alongside Sirius.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He would have liked to make some sort of stupid joke about how he pretty much lived at Saint Mungo’s anyway, as he had done once when it had been just him and Sirius, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk that way when the person on the other side of the conversation could both understand the full implications of such a statement, and could actually reply to the sentiment with one of his own.

“And Harry, there are other people in the world who have problems and survive through them, though most of their difficulties aren’t quite like yours, I’ll admit. Still, if they are capable of it, I know that you are, too. You will survive fighting Voldemort. I know that because I _won’t let you die_. I love you, as family if that’s all you want it to be. I’m sorry that I led you to think that I wasn’t there for you. I’ve always been there. I want to help you through this.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I’ve been a prat.”

“We both have,” Remus agreed, “and that’s okay, really. We’re all allowed mistakes, as long as we try to repair them.” Remus looked at him meaningfully. “I want to try, if that’s all right with you.”

Harry couldn’t even speak. He just let Remus keep clinging to him, and it was brilliant. Eventually, he nodded.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

~FIN~

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to end the fic at what has now become Harry’s second last visit with Sirius, but my inner sap wouldn’t let me destroy Harry quite so completely with all that angst, so I had to add a bit to make everything all better (well, a bit better, at least). Hope I didn’t ruin the intention of the fic in the process, or make it drag on too much. Although if it does, at least the squishier part of my brain is happy.
> 
> And for anyone who’s interested, this was written to combine two ideas floating around in my head:
> 
> (1) I wanted to respond to all those fics I’ve come across that give Harry a much better life just because he’s raised by someone other than the Dursleys. It surprises me that there’s not more written about how much worse Harry’s life could have been (because, no matter what’s said about them, growing up with the Dursleys really didn’t hurt Harry as much as it could have in the long run, since it would have been pretty disastrous for him to grow up in the wizarding world after he became the Boy Who Lived, I think).
> 
> (2) I was musing about how strange it would be if Harry grew up in a different way and was, thus, a somewhat different person, and yet somehow ended up almost exactly where he was in canon at the end of Book 6. Of course, I then made it a bit smutty and more than a little angsty. Bad me.


End file.
